‘Well, did you have a good look? Have you decided?’ asked Rutilov.
Peredonov gloomily reflected for a moment. Of course, he finally decided that he’d better choose the youngest. What did he want with the oldest one?
‘Let me see Valeriya again,’ he said with determination in his voice.
Lyudmila peered furtively through the window, trying to make out what they were saying, but was unsuccessful. Then footsteps rang out on the planked path in the yard. The sisters became quiet and sat there, excited and embarrassed. Rutilov came in again.
‘He’s chosen Valeriya and he’s waiting by the gate,’ he announced.
The sisters laughed, but Valeriya turned slightly pale. ‘Well, well,’ she repeated. ‘I need him badly, ever so badly!’
Her hands trembled as her sisters started to dress her for the wedding, all three of them bustling around her. As always she was very fussy and took her time. Her sisters made her hurry up. Rutilov couldn’t stop talking for excitement. He was naturally overjoyed – and very pleased with himself for arranging everything so well.
Darya asked him in a worried voice, ‘Have you ordered the cabs?’
Rutilov was annoyed at her stupidity and replied, ‘How could I do that? Do you think we want the whole town at the wedding? Varvara would drag Peredonov home by his hair!’
‘So how shall we get there?’
‘We’ll walk in pairs to the square and take a cab from there. It’s very simple. First you go with the bride, then Larisa with the groom. Lyudmila and I will stop off for Falastov, they can go together, and then I’ll pick up Volodin.’
Peredonov, who had been standing by himself, had sweet visions of Valeriya in all the enchantment of their wedding night: naked, bashful but happy. So frail, so delicate …
As he day-dreamed like this he took the remaining caramels out of his pocket and sucked them.
Then he recalled that Valeriya was a coquette. She would certainly want a new dress every week, nice furniture. It would be impossible to put some money by every month as he’d have to spend all his savings. She might create scenes and wouldn’t deign to show her face in the kitchen. And they might slip poison into his food there – Varvara could very well bribe the cook out of sheer spite. No, thought Peredonov, she’s much too delicate for me. I just wouldn’t know how to handle her. How could I swear at someone like her, beat her, spit on her? She’d cry her heart out and make my name mud all over town. No, life with her would be sheer hell. Now, Lyudmila’s far less complicated – why not take her?
Peredonov went over to the window and tapped the frame with his walking-stick. After a few moments Rutilov stuck his head out and anxiously asked, ‘What do you want?’
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Peredonov growled.
‘Well?’ Rutilov cried out in alarm.
‘I want to see Lyudmila,’ Peredonov said.
Rutilov went away from the window.
‘He’s the devil in spectacles,’ he grumbled and went to speak to his sisters.
Valeriya was overjoyed. ‘You’re the lucky one, Lyudmila,’ she said gaily.
Lyudmila fell back in her armchair and just couldn’t stop laughing.
‘Well, what shall I tell him?’ Rutilov asked. ‘Is it all right with you?’
Lyudmila couldn’t speak for laughter and merely waved her hands.
‘Of course it is,’ Darya answered for her. ‘You’d better go outside quickly in case he gets tired of waiting.’
Rutilov went into the drawing-room and whispered through the window, ‘She won’t be a moment.’
‘Tell her to hurry up!’ said Peredonov crossly. ‘What are they up to in there?’
Her sisters dressed Lyudmila quickly and she was ready in five minutes. Peredonov was still undecided. True, she was plump and cheerful. But she laughed too much. Most likely she’d laugh at him, and that he couldn’t stand. Although Darya was rather lively she was at least steadier and quieter. And prettier too. A far better proposition. He knocked on the window once more.
‘There he goes again,’ said Larisa. ‘It must be you this time, Darya.’
‘He’s a real devil!’ roared Rutilov and rushed to the window.
‘Who do you want now?’ he whispered angrily. ‘Changed your mind again?’
‘Let me see Darya,’ Peredonov answered.
Rutilov was in a blind rage. ‘Wait here!’ he said.
Peredonov was already revising his opinion of Darya and his short-lived admiration of her gave way to fear. She was far too boisterous and cheeky for him and she’d make his life hell. Why am I standing here like this? he thought. I might catch cold. Perhaps someone’s hiding in the ditch along the street, or in the grass under the fence, just waiting to jump out and bump me off! And he felt really depressed. None of them had any money to speak of, and they had no influence at all with the education authorities. Varvara would complain to the princess. And as it was the headmaster had a grudge against him.
He began to feel angry with himself. What on earth was he getting mixed up with Rutilov for? It seemed he’d cast a spell over him. Yes, that was quite possible. He must recite a counter-charm at once. He turned round and round, spat in all directions and muttered, ‘Chur-churashki, churki-balvashki, buki-bukashki, vedi-tarakashki. Evil spirits keep away. Away, away.’
His face showed intense concentration, as if he were performing some solemn ritual. Feeling he’d done what was necessary he now considered himself safe from Rutilov’s sorcery. He banged on the window with his stick, furiously muttering to himself, They should be reported for trying to trap me. ‘No, I don’t want to get married today,’ he declared to Rutilov, who was poking his head out.
‘You can’t back out now, Ardalyon. Everything’s ready,’ said Rutilov, trying to prevail upon him.
‘I don’t want to get married,’ Peredonov replied decisively. ‘Come round to my place for a game of cards.’
‘He’s a real devil, no mistake!’ cursed Rutilov. ‘He doesn’t want to get married – he’s got cold feet,’ he announced to his sisters. ‘But I’ll talk that old fool into it yet, don’t you worry. Now he wants me to play cards with him!’
The sisters simultaneously hurled abuse at Peredonov.
‘And after all this you’re going to play cards with that scoundrel?’ cried Valeriya.
‘Yes! I’ll take all his money off him. He’s not going to get away with it as easily as that,’ Rutilov said, trying to sound sure of himself but in fact feeling very awkward.
The sisters’ anger soon turned to laughter. Rutilov set off for Peredonov’s and they ran to the window.
‘Mr Peredonov!’ called Darya. ‘Why can’t you make your mind up? This is no way to go on.’
‘Old sourpuss!’ Lyudmila cried, laughing out loud.
Peredonov felt aggrieved that the sisters weren’t shedding sad tears at having been rejected by him. They’re only pretending! he thought as he walked out of the yard without saying one word. The girls ran to the front windows and he was followed by their taunts all the way down the street until the darkness swallowed him up.
FIVE
Peredonov was utterly miserable that there were no caramels left: it both saddened and infuriated him. Almost the whole way home Rutilov did all the talking, still singing his sisters’ praises. Only once did Peredonov enter into conversation, when he angrily asked, ‘Does a bull have horns?’
‘Yes it does. What of it?’ Rutilov replied in amazement.
‘Well, I don’t want to be a bull,’ Peredonov explained.
‘You’ll never be a bull, Ardalyon, since you’re a perfect pig,’ Rutilov replied, thoroughly vexed.
‘That’s a lie!’ Peredonov morosely replied.
‘No, I’m not lying, I can prove it,’ Rutilov gloated.
‘Go on,’ said Peredonov.
‘If you wait a moment, I shall,’ Rutilov replied, still gloating.
Both fell silent. Peredonov waited apprehensively and his annoyance w
ith Rutilov had a wearying effect on him.
‘Ardalyon, do you have a pyatachok?’* Rutilov suddenly asked.
‘Yes, I do, but you’re not having it,’ Peredonov spitefully replied.
Rutilov burst into loud laughter. ‘Well, if you have one of those, how come you’re not a pig?’ Rutilov gleefully exclaimed.
Peredonov clutched his nose in horror. ‘You’re lying. I’ve a human snout, not a pig’s snout,’ he muttered.
Rutilov guffawed. Peredonov glanced indignantly and anxiously at Rutilov and said, ‘You took me past some thorn-apple† today on purpose and drugged me with it to make me marry one of your sisters. One witch is bad enough already, without marrying three at once!’
‘You silly ass, how come I wasn’t drugged by it too?’
‘You have some secret remedy,’ Peredonov said. ‘Perhaps you breathed through your mouth and didn’t let it go up your nose. Or you may have recited some special words. I don’t know what to use against witchcraft. Until I thought of that counter-charm I was thoroughly drugged.’
Rutilov roared with laughter. ‘What did you say then?’ he asked, but Peredonov ignored him. ‘Why are you so stuck on Varvara?’ Rutilov went on. ‘Do you think you’ll be better off if you get the job through her? Then she’ll really have you in her clutches.’
Peredonov could understand none of this. She’s really doing this in her own interests, he thought. She’ll reap the benefit when I become an inspector and earn lots of money. That means she should be grateful to me, not the other way round. And in any event I feel more at ease with her than with anyone else.
The truth was that Peredonov was used to Varvara and felt an irresistible attraction towards her. Perhaps it was because he enjoyed making fun of and being cruel to her. He’d certainly never find another like her, not even made to order.
It was getting late and the light from Peredonov’s room shone brightly on the pavement against the darkness of the street. Grushina (who now came to see Varvara every day), Mrs Prepolovensky and her husband Konstantin, a tall man of about forty with a pale matt skin, black hair, and of remarkable taciturnity, were drinking tea at the table. Varvara, decked out in her best white dress, was very worried that Peredonov had been away so long and when Volodin cheerfully bleated that he had gone off somewhere with Rutilov her anxiety grew. When at last the men returned they were greeted with jeers and stupid dirty jokes.
‘Varvara, where’s the vodka?’ Peredonov angrily asked.
Varvara smiled guiltily, rushed from the table and quickly returned with a large coarsely cut decanter.
‘Let’s drink,’ he said morosely.
‘Wait a moment,’ said Varvara. ‘Claudia will bring us some savouries. Get a move on, you great lump!’ she shouted into the kitchen.
But Peredonov was already pouring the vodka. ‘Why wait?’ he muttered. ‘Time doesn’t wait!’
They drank up and ate pies filled with blackcurrant jam. All that Peredonov ever kept for entertaining his guests were playing-cards and vodka. But as it was impolite to start playing before tea was served all they could do was go on drinking. Meanwhile Claudia brought them some savouries to help them with the vodka. She forgot to shut the door when she went out into the kitchen, which annoyed Peredonov no end. ‘You’re always leaving the doors wide open,’ he growled.
He was scared of draughts – one could catch cold. With the doors shut the whole time the flat was always stuffy and evil-smelling.
Mrs Prepolovensky took a hard-boiled egg. ‘What nice eggs!’ she said. ‘Where did you get them?’
‘They’re not too bad,’ Peredonov replied. ‘But my father had a hen that regularly laid two large ones a day all the year round.’
‘That’s nothing!’ Mrs Prepolovensky replied. ‘In our village we had a hen that laid two eggs a day and a spoonful of butter.’
‘Yes, yes, ours too!’ Peredonov said, not realizing his leg was being pulled. ‘There was no hen like ours. She was quite remarkable.’
Varvara laughed. ‘Let them have their little joke,’ she said.
‘It really makes me sick, all this drivel,’ Grushina said.
Peredonov looked at her fiercely and savagely retorted, ‘If your ears are drooping you should have them pulled off.’*
This remark disconcerted Grushina who said plaintively, ‘Really, Mr Peredonov! You’re always saying things like that!’
Everyone laughed in sympathy. Volodin blinked, shook his head and explained, ‘If your ears start drooping it’s best to have them pulled off. No good having them flapping about to and fro, to and fro.’ Volodin demonstrated by tugging his ears.
Grushina shouted at him, ‘Can’t you think of a joke of your own? Always apeing other people!’
Volodin took offence and replied pompously, ‘What does it matter, as long as one has a good time, in nice company? I can make jokes too. But if this is not to your liking, then you know what you can do.’
‘Well said, Pavel,’ Rutilov laughed approvingly.
‘Mr Volodin certainly knows how to stand up for himself,’ Mrs Prepolovensky said with a wry grin. Varvara cut a slice off the loaf and kept the knife in her hand as she listened spellbound to Volodin’s fine speeches. The edge glittered and Peredonov took fright: was she going to cut his throat? He cried out, ‘Varvara! Put that knife down!’
Varvara shuddered. ‘You frightened me out of my life with your shouting!’ she said, putting it down. ‘He’s like that at times,’ she explained to the silent Mr Prepolovensky, who was stroking his beard and seemed about to say something.
‘That kind of thing does happen. I knew a fellow once who was afraid of needles,’ he said in a sad, cloying voice. ‘He thought someone might stick one right into him one day and whenever he saw a needle he was terribly scared, as you can imagine …’ And he rambled on and on, unable to stop, telling different versions of the same story, until someone interrupted. Then he lapsed into silence again.
Grushina started to tell smutty stories. She told everyone how her late husband had been jealous and how she had been unfaithful. Then she told some story she’d heard from a friend in St Petersburg about the mistress of an important government official, who met him once while driving in the street and shouted, ‘Hullo, my dear old Jean!’
‘I ask you,’ Grushina said, ‘in the street!’
Peredonov retorted, ‘I’ve a good mind to report you to the police. You shouldn’t be allowed to say such stupid things about important officials.’
Grushina was taken aback and mumbled, ‘That’s what I was told. I don’t believe in keeping things to myself.’
Peredonov sat angrily, not saying a word, and drank his tea from the saucer, his elbows on the table. In the house of a future inspector it was very bad form talking so disrespectfully about dignitaries. He was furious with Grushina. And there was something highly suspicious about Volodin’s eternal references to him as the future inspector. On some previous occasion Peredonov had even told Volodin, ‘My dear chap, I can see how jealous you are. Yes, I’m going to be an inspector and you’re not!’
To this Volodin had forcefully replied, ‘Each to his own, Ardalyon. We’re both experts – in our own fields.’
‘Did you know that our Natasha got a job with a police officer immediately she left here?’ announced Varvara.
Peredonov shivered and a look of horror appeared on his face. ‘You’re lying, of course?’ he said questioningly.
‘Why should I lie?’ Varvara replied. ‘Go and ask him for yourself if you like.’
This unwelcome information was confirmed by Grushina. Peredonov was speechless. She might tell him anything, the police officer would take note and probably report him to the Ministry. It looked very bad.
At this moment some books on the shelf over the chest of drawers caught his attention. The fat ones were bound volumes of Annals of the Fatherland* and the thinner ones the works of Pisarev. Peredonov turned pale and said, ‘We must hide them at once or I’ll be reported.�
��
Peredonov used to keep these books prominently displayed, to show everyone that he was a man of liberal ideas, although in reality he had neither ideas nor any inclination whatsoever for thought. He only kept them for show – he never opened them and it was a long time since he had read anything. He did not take any newspapers and obtained all his news from other people. But then nothing counted as news for him, as nothing in the outside world interested him. He would even laugh at his friends who were stupid enough to spend time and money on newspapers. His time was far too precious!
He went up to the shelf and grumbled, ‘In this kind of town they’d report you right away. Help me with these, Pavel,’ he asked Volodin. Trying to look sympathetic and understanding, Volodin carefully took the books Peredonov handed him. Peredonov let him carry most of them and Volodin followed him into the parlour.
‘Where are we going to hide them, Ardalyon?’ he asked.
‘Wait and see,’ Peredonov replied with his habitual surliness.
‘What’s that you’re taking out, Mr Peredonov?’ asked Mrs Prepolovensky.
‘Banned books,’ replied Peredonov as he passed through the room. ‘If they know I’ve got these I’ll be reported.’
In the parlour Peredonov squatted in front of the stove and piled the books high on the iron grating. Volodin followed suit. Then he stuffed one book after another into the narrow opening as fast as he could. Volodin, who had adopted the same position behind him, handed him the books and tried to make his sheeplike face look highly serious, his lips puffed out with importance and his sharp forehead bowed from the mental effort. Varvara kept looking at them through the door and said, laughing, ‘He’s up to his tricks again!’
Grushina cut in, ‘Don’t talk like that, dear. He can get into serious trouble if they find out, especially as he’s a teacher. The governors are terribly scared that the teachers might be putting revolutionary ideas into the boys’ heads.’
When they had finished their tea all seven sat down to a game of cards around the card-table in the parlour. Peredonov played with abandon but very badly. Every twenty points he had to pay the other players, particularly Mr Prepolovensky, who took the money for himself and his wife. In fact, the Prepolovenskys were clearly winning more than anyone else. By prearranged signs – such as a slight cough or knocking on the table – they each knew the other’s hand. That day Peredonov’s luck was out right from the start. He was in a terrible hurry to recoup his losses but Volodin dealt very slowly, meticulously shuffling the cards.
The Little Demon Page 7